


The Veela Thing

by cait_stewart



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal Sex, Banter, Belly Kink, Belly Rubs, Birth, Book 6: Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, Come Inflation, Eggpreg, Eggs, Enemies To Parents, He Didn't Know He Was Pregnant, Inflation, M/M, Mpreg, Pregnancy, Pregnancy Kink, Pregnant Sex, Quidditch, Secret Relationship, Secret pregnancy, Teen Pregnancy, Unplanned Pregnancy, Veela Draco Malfoy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-23
Updated: 2019-02-23
Packaged: 2019-11-04 01:25:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17888921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cait_stewart/pseuds/cait_stewart
Summary: It's all Potter's fault.





	The Veela Thing

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Platycakes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Platycakes/gifts).



Potter, who's horrible, times the whole thing to coincide with the eve of Slytherin's last practice session before their match with Gryffindor.

“How exactly am I supposed to fly with this thing?” complains Draco, cupping his swollen stomach while Potter looks for his trousers. “It's bloody _heavy_ , Potter. My balance will be completely off.” 

Potter laughs. 

“Same way I'm going to fly with these if they don't shrink back up before the match,” he says, carefully adjusting his currently enormous balls. “Besides, I'm pretty sure you wanted this as much as I did.” 

“Ugh, shut up,” says Draco, his cock stirring back to life at the thought of the pints of Potter's spunk that are sloshing inside his belly. “You tricked me.” 

“You cast the spell yourself,” replies Potter, grinning broadly in the mirror. He's still shirtless, still slightly flushed from their earlier shag, still sexy as fuck. Draco is fully hard once again. 

“All right,” he says, abruptly, turning to face Potter. “One more time, and then we go back to bed. C'mon, off with your pants.” 

“Are you sure?” asks Potter, placing one hand on Draco's teardrop-shaped belly. “You're already so full, maybe I could suck you off or som–” 

“Who cares,” says Draco, sticking his hand down Potter's pants. “I need your stupid cock inside me, Potter. _Now._ ” 

§ 

Draco spends the rest of the evening trying to rid himself of Potter's spunk, with mixed results. The following morning, as much as he'd love to just stay in bed and nurse his faint bellyache, he has no choice but to disguise his still bloated stomach under his Quidditch robes and walk – not quite comfortably, on account of his sore arse – down to the pitch. 

“Maybe lay off the Butterbeer, Malfoy,” says Urquhart, eyeing Draco's midsection reproachfully. “The way you've been flying today, we'd be better off with my Granny playing Seeker.” 

“Sod off,” replies Draco, embarassed. It's true that he's been flying terribly: it's hard to dive properly when your unfamiliarly full belly gets in the way. _Stupid Potter_ , he thinks, with a pang of longing for the other boy and his beautiful cock. _I shouldn't have let him talk me into this whole mess._

§ 

“Why do you still have a belly?” inquires Potter, cornering Draco in a deserted corridor. “I thought you were going to, er, get ri–” 

“I did,” says Draco, annoyed. “And it took ages, too. I suppose some of the stuff you pumped into me was too high up to come out, for now. Oh, and practice was hell, thank you for asking.” 

“Weird,” says Potter, studying Draco's slightly rounded form. “You're actually bigger at the bottom, so I don't know if your theory makes much sense.” 

“I don't know, then,” says Draco, glaring at Potter. Potter grins. 

“Anyway,” he says, leaning closer to whisper into Draco's ear, “the belly really suits you.” 

§ 

The swelling in Draco's stomach, somehow, gets worse during the night. 

_What if there's something wrong with me?_ he wonders, anxiously exploring the shape of his distended abdomen in the privacy of his bed. _Could my little stunt with Potter have injured me somehow?_

His belly feels hard, just as it did when his guts were filled to the brim with Potter's spunk, but the shape is a bit different – wider, somewhat, with a slight peak a few inches above his pubic bone. He briefly considers going to the infirmary, but explaining to Madam Pomfrey the likely cause of his present condition – with the risk of the whole story getting back to his parents – is absolutely out of the question. He tries sucking his stomach in – the bulge doesn't change shape at all. 

_Potter likes it_ , he reminds himself, rubbing the swollen mass pensively. It's true: magically inflating Draco's guts with his sperm was a huge fantasy of Potter's, who had spent weeks trying to talk Draco into it, until at last he had relented. The sex had been been amazing, that much is undeniable, but Draco is not at all a fan of mixing his personal and public life, which is why the idea of going about his day looking five months pregnant because of Potter's stupid enhanced balls doesn't thrill him _at all_. 

“Malfoy, are you alive in there?” 

Blaise's bored drawl calls Draco's attention back to his immediate surroundings. He checks his watch: he will barely have time to have some breakfast before his first class. 

_Bloody Potter_ , he thinks, carefully hauling himself up to a sitting position. “Coming!” 

§ 

“I insist: it suits you,” says Potter, his warm hands on both sides of Draco's bulging stomach. 

“Is that all you have to say?” hisses Draco, glaring at Potter in the darkness of the fifth floor's broom cupboard. “Don't you think we should find out what's wrong with me?” 

“I mean, seems pretty obvious to me,” says Potter, untucking Draco's shirt to explore the sharply inclined lower slope of his belly. “Some of my spunk must have remained inside you, and the after effects of the spell we used are making it more voluminous. It'll take care of itself, eventually.” 

“Easy for you to say,” says Draco, through gritted teeth. “You're not the one who looks like he's swallowed a pumpkin.” 

“I wouldn't say a pumpkin,” jokes Potter, unfastening Draco's trousers to free his erection. “A melon, maybe. Hello there – is someone happy to see me?” 

“You've been manhandling me for ten minutes, Potter, of course I got hard.” 

“I think you're enjoying having a belly, actually,” says Potter, grabbing Draco's cock. “Almost as much as I am.” 

“Shut the hell up, Potter. I hate this thing almost as much as I hate you,” says Draco, unconvincingly, and he pulls Potter in by his tie for a kiss. 

§ 

Draco's belly swells so much during the afternoon that he ends up having to skip dinner and hide out in the Room of Requirement instead. 

“I'm going to kill you,” he tells Potter, as the latter hands him a smuggled turkey sandwhich. “Just you wait. As soon as I stop waddling.” 

Potter grins. 

“Deal,” he says, kneeling between Draco's splayed legs to examine his naked, torpedo-shaped stomach. “Worth it, honestly. How does it feel?” 

“How do you think it feels, you twit? Heavy, cumbersome, ridiculous.” 

“You look full-term,” says Potter, gazing in fascination at Draco's flattened bellybutton. 

“What the hell am I going to do tomorrow? I can't bloody fly in this condition.” 

“Do you want me to fake a coma?” offers Potter, looking up from between Draco's legs. “You just have to say the word. Or I could break a leg.” 

“This is all your fault, Potter.” 

“Indeed,” agrees Potter, rubbing Draco's swollen stomach possessively. “And I couldn't be prouder.” 

§ 

Harper, naturally, can hardly believe his luck. Draco – his heaviest cloak concealing the shape of his midsection – reluctancly hands him his Quiddicth robes before waddling back to the Room of Requirement. His stomach, which he's taken to supporting with both hands when he's standing up, has not grown particularly larger during the night, but the weight of it is starting to put a strain on his poor back. 

He wishes stupid Potter were there to rub it better. 

§ 

Potter arrives within two hours, his hair even more windswept than usual, grinning broadly. 

“The bloke you sent to play instead of you is an idiot,” he announces, handing Draco the Snitch. “Honestly, you would have done a better job, nevermind your, ah, little problem.” 

Draco scoffs. 

“Count yourself lucky, Potter,” he says, wincing as a sudden sharp pain shoots through his taut belly. “Ouch.” 

Potter's grin wanes. 

“What's wrong?” he asks, quickly. “Does it hurt?” 

“A bit,” says Draco, rubbing the swollen mass. “I've been having cramps on and off all morning, I hope it means this thing is about to empty itself.” 

§ 

The pressure in Draco's rock-hard stomach grows increasingly worse, until he realizes that it'd probably be wise to try and get himself to a toilet in preparation for the imminent deluge. 

“Help me up,” he orders Potter, who's dozing comfortably on an old velvet sofa. “I need the bathroom. Pass me my cloak.” 

“We should do it again sometime,” says Potter, gazing wistfully at Draco's enormous belly. 

“Like hell we should,” says Draco, gingerly getting to his feet. The movement triggers a shift inside his stomach, a pocket of gas painfully distending his rectum. He bears down, hoping for a silent fart to discreetly alleviate his discomfort, and then something truly bizarre happens. 

“Did you just... did you piss yourself?” asks Potter, baffled. 

“Of course I didn't,” says Draco, brusquely, glaring at the puddle of clear liquid at his feet. 

“Then what... whoa, look at your stomach! It's changed shape completely. Does it mean that that stuff came from... ?” 

“From my arse, yes,” confirms Draco, carefully palpating the newly oblong swell of his belly. The liquid he just expelled, he discovers, was masking several ovoidal... _masses_ that are now clearly visible under the surface of his skin. Cold sweat forms at the base of his neck. 

“What's wrong?” 

“Potter,” says Draco, his mouth very dry all of a sudden. “Potter, there are _things_ inside of me.” 

“What do you mean, _things_?” asks Potter, dumbly. 

“Here,” says Draco, guiding Potter's hand to the shapes inside his stomach. “Feel for yoursel.” 

Potter's eyes widen in shock. 

“What the–” he begins, and then Draco's belly contracts strongly under his hand. 

“Nnngh,” cries Draco, as he feels one of the masses drop inside his rectum, painfully filling the narrow space between his hips. He drops into a squat. 

“What's happening?” says Potter, in a panicked tone. “Draco, talk to me.” 

“Take. Off. My. Trousers,” orders Draco, gritting his teeth. The object inside his arse is quickly moving towards his opening, its blunt tip beginning to spread his anus. Potter stares at him like a deer in the headlights. “Quick! It's coming out!” 

“What?” 

“The egg,” groans Draco, suddenly putting two and two together. “Bloody hell, Potter – it's the Veela thing, of course. Your stupid spell trigger– _AAAAH_ ” he yells, a bulge forming in the seat of his trourses as the first of many eggs manages to escape the tight confines of his arsehole. “Potter, this time I am _definitely_ going to kill you!”

**Author's Note:**

> I specifically went and looked up Harper's name and the result of the Gryffindor-Slytherin 1996-1997 Quidditch match, hope you appreciate my devotion to inconsequential details in smutty fics.


End file.
